


The Rule

by writingdirtymp3



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Dark Katniss Everdeen, Dark Peeta Mellark, Drug Abuse, Dry Humping, F/F, F/M, Fuck the system, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mental Health Issues, Mutual Masturbation, Nightmares, Punk Rock, Rockstar Life, Suicidal Thoughts, Threesome - F/F/M, toxic ex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:00:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29481849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingdirtymp3/pseuds/writingdirtymp3
Summary: Number 1 Rule: Don't Fuck Bandmates
Relationships: Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9





	The Rule

The 4 am moonlight illuminated the small corner of the bus that I was cuddled against. It was a perfect spot for watching the road pass while the we drove to what seemed to an endless destination. I watched the trees and earth blur and pass me by one by one. Shadows crawled throughout the night. I could hear the low rumble of the bus motor, it was like a warm blanket that comforted me through the night, that tied me to reality. Touring was exhausting mentally and physically. Sharing spaces in close proximity, the urge of wanting to choke the fuck out of someone always lingered in the air. It was fraternity love, we journeyed through our fucked-up lives together, infamously living the life of a rockstar. The dehydration after blackouts, the dry heaving, std scares, the fights, the drugs, insomnia, the girls, the fans, the music- savages of pure debauchery.

_Someone had to experience it._

I wouldn’t be doing anything else though, the fuck I look like living a normal life? Being a sheep, following the status quo. There were times I wished for ignorance or blind faith, maybe my life would be easier if I could unconsciously lie to myself. The veil burned in front of my eyes and I crossed lines that I could never erase. I was stuck and it kind of drove me insane. _That’s why I was a tortured artist,_ I chastised myself for even saying that, nothing more than a cliche thing to be. However, misery coursed my friends, or maybe it was the chemical imbalances created by our functioning addict lifestyle. I was in my head again, but this was the best time to write down lyrics and make art, it was my dark truth.

Only time I’m in my mind, when I’m all alone/ That’s why I’m never really alone in the night time….

Lose love like change, I can’t get attached/ cos they all burn like lit matches….

I’ve been feelin really lost, duckin’ all attachments/ I don’t really go outside cos I hate traffic/I don’t want to go outside, get caught in traffic….

Tired of feelin’ like I’m trapped in my damn mind/ Tired of feelin’ like I don’t wanna be alive/ Tired of feelin’ like my life got no peace/ I really wanna die in the night time….

I hated being alone and I’d rather not subject myself to my own thoughts. I’d rather kill myself. I emit a dark chuckle. I hated being alone in here, the endless ruminations, the what-ifs, the over analyzations, idealizations, emotional instability, the amount of self-hatred and doubt. I couldn’t even look in the mirror without being triggered. I couldn’t turn it off. I stay up in the middle of the night, where my nightmares become a tangible reality. Sleep paralysis crippled me during times of restlessness, my eyes were encased in deep purple circles… I was afraid to dream about my innermost subconscious thoughts, have my demons suck whatever little soul I have left. I could not explain it but I was mentally exhausted. I was lost but found by the island of misfits that I sat here on the bus with. They were my real family, my only family I had left. I couldn’t ruin that, even though I was so good at self-destruction, I promised myself I would not throw it away like I do to any one who got too close.

The passing roads on the bus were a complex metaphor of my inner conflict; is life passing me by? What am I running away from? Am I chasing something that will never exist? _Sometimes I wish I’d never been born at all_. I loose time, deep in thought with the low hum of the bus motor, whirring AC unit, the tires hitting the pavement, the brisk wind brushing against the bus. It was the most depressing song I’ve ever heard. Maybe I’d needed to come back to earth. Once the sun began to rise and the sky became a neon blue, my eyes began to sulk. Half lidded I reluctantly get up and take something that would make me sleep. I rummaged through the cabinets to find anything to numb myself… like a fiend. I found an orange bottle that had little white pills. This is what I wanted. This would work. I found some styrofoam cup with some codeine and jolly ranchers, took a sip of that to wash down the pill I just swallowed. I found a roach, and lit up the burnt crush weed and part of my thumb. I was able to get three more hits off of it. I threw the rest of the blunt away and decided to sleep in my bunk. When I pulled my cover, two skinny naked girls were knocked out. I shrugged. I passed the couch area trying to be discreet stepping over more party girls naked limbs.

I only see Peeta by himself in his bed. He probably kicked out his girls, and wanted to sleep alone. I tiptoe to his personal bathroom, twisting the shower head that is connected to a 8 gallon bottle of water- as slowly as possible, making sure not to wake anyone up, even though everyone was too fucked up to even wake up till noon. I stand under the stream of water on my face and lather my hands with Peeta’s body soap. My face feels numb after the Xanax kicks in, I barely feel the cold water, it could have been so hot that it felt cold. I’m too high too care. I let the water run for some time meanwhile I scrub my body raw. I loved the burning feeling after scrubbing, it made me realize things were real, that I was still alive. I dried myself with his towel and threw on what smelled like a clean oversized t-shirt. I step near Peeta’s bed since the closet of the bathroom is an inch away, I pull the comforter back while I re-tie my hair into a bun. I bend one of my knees on to the bed, my weight sinking into the memory foam.

Deep down I knew he hated sleeping alone, but he rather sleep alone then give a woman too much power over him, he’ll pull away before anyone could get too close, like me. He’s always been a nomad. I made sure there was enough space so I wouldn’t wake him, I laid down on the pillow next to his, and got under the covers. I closed my eyes about to slip into the darkness as I feel an arm snake around me and pull me from my spacious thoughts and into warm body heat.

“Can’t stay away from me, Kitty” he snickered, I can feel his hot breath on the back of my neck.

“You act like I had a choice” I gritted, trying to stay unbothered that he purposely sent women into my bunk so that way I'd have to sleep with him.

“Sleep with the groupies if you want, nobody is forcing you to be here” he snapped. I turned around to face him, leaving the still silence as my answer. Our noses were 2 inches away from each other.

“You don’t have to pretend that you hate sleeping with me” his wispy breath smelt like stale whiskey. “I know how you feel” his eyes shot to my dilated pupils.

He was right. I was able to sleep better when he was next to me. It started to be a routine. We gave each other that security during the soulless night. I closed my eyes in response, I didn’t have the energy to defend myself. I felt him sit up. I opened my eyes as he gazed down at me with his sultry half lidded ones- sex appeal dripped off of him like condensation, we sat in observing silence.

“Come here” he patted his lap, I laid my head on his thigh. He took out my hair and began pulling on the damp strands that were tied into a braid.

“I couldn’t sleep without you” I apologized as if I was bothering him. I was sorry for needing him like this, for being weak.

He reached over to the side cabinet to grab a pre-rolled joint, he pursed the blunt between his lips and pulled with the smoke into his lungs, the amber glow reflected off his porcelain skin.

“I know” he breathed, even though he spoke two words it meant so much more- it was the unspoken context that I didn't need to apologize, that he needed me too. I swallowed a deep sigh and exhaled through my nostrils as his blow torch azure eyes flit from my own down to my lips. I am too high to feel uncomfortable with it. 

His fingers combed through my wet tangled black hair, comforting me in ways his words couldn’t. I nest closer into his lap, and he held me as if I were a broken blackbird. I try to decipher the tattoos that scatter his stomach, my fingers pads lightly trace the scratched in bricks. He reflexes and encases my hand with his, “ticklish” is all he is able to grunt. I stretch my neck, I see him in deep thought, the angle is jagged but I can appreciate his sharp bone structure, it's even more prominent through the moonlight, highlighting the hollowness in his cheekbones. Something in me tells me to nurture him back to health. But I can’t. I won’t.

I sit up and move closer to him. He stares at me for a while, I touch his cold cheeks as if I could heal his deep-seated issues.

“You’re loosing too much weight” I gently trace my thumb over the shadowed depression that lines his cheeks. Again he holds my wrist. “I’m skin n bones, I can’t put on weight for shit” he scoffs.

He holds his blunt between my lips and I inhale. He drinks me in.

“You are too” he comments. I raise an eyebrow and ignore him, he wasn’t allowed to show me concern, even if he cared he barely meant it. I exhale the smoke in his face and under his hard exterior, I see a faint smile, as he flicks the ashes behind me. I let out a dry laugh. I pull his body into my small frame. His body is a little rigid but eventually he melts into mine, his arms come to wrap around me and rest on my tail bone. He squeezes me tight, and the blunt sets ablaze to my skin. I jump into his neck.

“Fuck Peet” I moan. I can feel the corner of his cheeks lift as if he were silently laughing.

“Sorry” he quickly moves his hand away and lazily kisses my cheek. I feel him put the blunt in his free hand, as he rubs my lower back with his other. “You okay?” he offers.

I tilt my head back. “I feel like you did that on purpose” I lick my lips.

“I didn’t” he smirks with no remorse.

“If you wanted me to move closer” I straddle his lap and crane my neck so that my lips are parallel to his right ear “you could’ve asked” I panted, “just like how someone sent those women into my bed” I hum.

I feel him twitch between my thighs, I know he could feel the heat on his reptilian cold-blooded skin. I raise an eyebrow.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” he adjusts our waists so that I could feel him thickening.

“You like doing that, don’t you” I question and his eyes burning with excitement and curiosity. His eyes emanate coyness. “like doing what?” lips curl into a smug smile.

“Hurting women” I analyze him, trying to find the riddle in his eyes. His face lightly murmurs, taken aback that I was able to read through his opacity. “Nevermind, don’t answer that,” I stare.

He furrows his eyebrows at me. He gives me a sadistic laugh. “You’re sick” I conclude.

“And you’re not?” He raises his eyebrow and his icy eyes pierced my direction.

“I never said I wasn’t, but we are not talking about me” I trace his collar bone.

“You like hurting ‘em just as much as me,” he observed. I lock my eyes with his and stop my movements.

“It’s different,” I bite. I continue to trace down his happy trail watching his abdomen quiver.

“You fuck them because men have burned and scarred you; you use and discard women just as much as anyone on this bus,” he proudly states as if he has me all figured out. For some reason his words feel like they crawled under a peeled back nail. He exhales the smoke running out from his lungs I look at him sideways a little and pull my hands away from his skin. “Ah, silent,” he blows smoke into my direction.

I stare at him a little harder and rub my bare cunt against his boxer-cladded dick imprint. “You’re just bitter cos I refuse to fuck you” I move my mental chess piece. Checkmate, whose silent now asshole.

“Go fuck yourself” he leans back and inhales his blunt. _You_ _can fuckin choke._ I silently pump my ego. 

“You’re the one who threw it in my face that I don’t fuck men, aw did I bruise your ego” I palm his concaving chest.

“You’re very aggravating, Kitty” he blows the smoke in my face.

“All I’ve asked of you is to respect me. Not to measure my worth from what you can take from me. Can you do that for once in your life, attach worth to me because you care, don’t confuse intimacy with lust. I’m a person, your friend. You can’t treat me like that- like I’m disposable- like I’m going to leave if I get too close to you- I’m not your mother.” I grab the blunt that rests between his index and middle finger and inhale it.

“I’m not him either, not all men are gonna hurt you” he snatches his blunt back and I exhale the smoke.

“He has nothing to do with this, he's dead to me, and you’re about to join him” I snap quickly, I hate how he saw through the facade, I hate that he brought up people from my past. 

“Just like everyone else, what difference does it make” he lifts up the hem of my oversized shirt. I slap his hand away.

“Take accountability for your actions, no one is going to do that for you. Ever- no one is going to give you sympathy” I deadpan. I could throw it back in his face the amount of tabloids he and the rest of our bandmates graced the cover of. He burnt many bridges, he acted like a rockstar, like a fucking asshole- but somewhere deep and lost inside of the 6'4 broad chested derelict of a man there was still hope, the Peeta I missed, who was sweet and liked to bake cupcakes. It seems like a distant memory. I wasn't good enough for him then. It was too late.

I loved him in all of his truths, traces of himself came back to me but Peeta was still a good person he just didn't want to believe it. Like all of us somewhere a long the way we reach a point of no return- for Peeta it was his addiction to tracker jacker venom, a blended compound of heroin, that almost killed him, and in a number of ways it did. He hates every being of himself for all the debased things he did when he wasn't himself- when he was surviving his mental prison and the drugs switched his behavioral chemistry. He couldn't forgive himself for turning into a piece of the system's game- so he punished himself and let them win. He plays these games over and over and over again.

“I don’t need it” He lifts his chin high.

“Yeah, but you want it, you want it so bad. Poor Peeta and his mommy issues, he refuses to treat women like human beings because I'm infatuated with my only female bandmate who doesn't like men” I inch into his personal space, close enough that he could feel my breath against his face.

“You're lying to yourself, so what- you just going to never feel, numb yourself, block yourself off from any person who might show an interest in you cos you’re scared” he pushes.

“You won’t even admit how you feel, why should I give you the one thing I vowed never to do again.” I grind against him.

“This is what makes me mad” he meets my hips. “I don’t get how someone who gets me, who claims to love me and care for me, who will sleep with me every night, who loves so much, who makes me laugh like I have just experienced it for the first time, refuses to be loved” he holds my hips still.

“I don’t need it, I don’t need love in that way, it doesn’t exist, the sooner you realize that you’ll be better off, its a fucking chemical imbalance” he tried to push me off him but I lock my thighs against his waist.

“You want it bad” he thrusts into me “you’re so fucked up, just like me- you secretly love it, this, you want attention” he growled at me, he could take me right now and I wouldn't fight him- the thing is Peeta is scared too, he won't admit it to himself but he knows I'd send him down a path of misery and relapse if I left him. 

I tried TJ venom when Peeta asked me too but I was able to stop- it was highly fucking addictive but my true addiction was so much more powerful than any drug and it would win every single time, and it was love. I couldn't afford to feel that way again- I don't think I would be able to climb myself out of it. I couldn't understand why my brain's wires crossed any time I fell in love- my make shift therapist diagnosed me with an emotional irregularity disorder. It sounded much worse than it actually was.

_Borderline Personality Disorder._

I was in and out of rehab facilities and mental health hospitals of 72 hour holds more than I could count. I saw the tweets and the media's poor attempt to shame me as a glorified bimbo- don't get me wrong I love bimbos, just for clarification they're my favorite type of people; no thoughts, just vibes; I envied them. They compared me to a Disney cult child actor who obviously was privy to the rampant pedophilia in Hollywood; or the iconic Britney shaven head moment who felt trapped from her conservatorship. The truth is this world didn't save or protect girls who were 'bad', who were fucked up, who had to grow up early, who were abused by men, who were too hard to save, whose stories were only told in half truths because people were too uncomfortable to care about what really happens to young girls who are forgotten and discarded, no one comes back for us. 

They only see the now and never the why, because it's easier to look away from us and say that won't happen to my daughter- but the truth is, it does happen in different amounts of dosages. It happens to the very best of us and some of us don't even notice it, some of us are in denial. It's the woman who marry men who lack emotional intelligence and only know how to talk about sports and the economy- whatever the fuck that is- the same women make their husbands buffalo chicken dip on vapid football weekends, then go emotionally date their girlfriends cos that's the closest thing that can get to true love. Women are more romantic to each other because the men in their lives can't even lift a finger of effort or appreciation. These same women say they don't believe in feminism because ignorance is bliss and they need to be loved and validated by the male gaze, they need to believe in the lie that they are happy, that falling in love was their purpose and that they weren't conditioned by cartoon princess movies- because if they woken up from their nightmare and started peeling back the layers of their identity, they would see what I see- that they wasted majority of their lives building theirselves around what men wanted. 

It's easier to be pretty cos your value is tied to how attractive you are- so we shave and stay scarless pretty fools- its just easier to be loved that way. If you release the ugly in you like I have- men will take your love, your will to dream- they will use you and drain you dry for their own amusement. It happened to me, just like it happened to my mother, cyclical trauma. 

Peeta was right I loved his attention, but I loved the complete supremacy I had over him- when he looked at me I was good, I was someone who could be loved by Peeta. I loved being wanted by never dipping my foot into the water, I loved that if Peeta and I were to stop being in each others lives, he would think about me while he was balls deep in his wife. He would see me in his daughter's rebellious years. He would think of me as the one who got away, miss me, and wish that he could live many lives with me- I saw all the alternate realities of us when he looked at me. I felt his urgency to be with me, that we would cross each other's paths over again and it would end the same, him and I. He was my twin flame. His eyes told me we meet again in another life. 

I shake off that feeling of regret cos Peeta and I- we would end in overdosing or suicide or both- we fought to be here every fucking aching day of our lives, but you can't celebrate that win with most people because if you did they'd lock us away and throw away the key until they made us vegetables in a padded cell. 

“Its called power, I don’t know whether to hate you or to-” His face is a couple centimeters away from me

“Stop fighting me, Katniss, let go for once in your life” I stare into his eyes, searching, scanning, they flit down to his lips and back up to his eyes again, as if I was inviting him. What the fuck was I doing. Dancing with the devil.

“You’re extremely manipulative” I suck my teeth.

“To you I'm always so negative. I like to call it persuasive” the corners of his mouth upturn. He inches closer to my lips.

“It’s working ain’t it” His words hit me.

“Cock-y” I let it slowly fall from my mouth. He bites his lip. “It’s the drugs” I breathe.

We both push each other limits and always play this fucked up game of cat and mouse. I hear something move, I turn my head in the direction. Any chance that allowed me to escape his magnetic pull was something I’d take. The two naked girls who were sleeping in my bunk slither their way into bed with us. One of the girls kisses my neck, I close my eyes, I hear the band of Peeta's underwear being snapped against his skin, I unwind my legs from his waist, and slide my hips downward, knowing I still caused friction against Peeta’s hard-on. I reposition myself so I’m sitting in the middle of his legs. The badly dyed blonde bobs her head down into his lap. Peeta and I continue to lock eyes. I feel the raven-haired girls’ lips inch her way up my chin, I soften into her as she touches my lips. She kisses me a couple of times before she lifts my shirt, and my nipples harden at the cold air, and she nibbles at my nipple, suckling them gently and carefully as if she were sucking on a piece of melted warm chocolate, so different then men, so much nicer and loving, she could never hurt me like he would. She throws my shirt, and travels down my abdomen with her tongue and circles around my belly button, and pushes me on my back. I sit upon my elbows staring at Peeta as he intently watches me succumb to her mouth, as I let out airy moans I’m trying to hold in. I can tell how much he wants to be the one who is making me moan as he pulses under the blonde's mouth, his veins coagulate.

I know what he’s telling me with his eyes, he wishes I'd let him in, let him touch me. The girl spreads my legs and parts my pussy with her tongue, I feel her tongue ring rub against my clitoris. I throw my head back, bucking against her mouth. She holds a tighter grip around my ass, bringing me closer to her mouth as she swallows my lips. I feel a hand rub against my feet, my eyes open. Peeta’s huge calloused hand massages my feet, spreading my toes while the black-haired girl adds a finger inside of me. Feeling myself get slicker with arousal, I heard the blood throbbing getting louder and louder in my ears, and the sound around me becomes further and further away, almost like I’m floating away.

Peeta rubs my toes and the blonde-haired girl deep throats his cock, his eyes closed feeling the sensations close to him while playing with my cold feet. As he massaged the sole of my foot, the sensation traveled between my legs, and throbbing became deeper and harder to ignore. It was pounding in my ears, a inner chant that became a mantra I could no longer avoid. I could feel his burning gaze, staring at me come undone by his ministrations as I was spread opened for him. I envisioned Peeta doing what the raven haired girl was doing to me, and with the thought of his head between my thighs and his tongue tasting my skin, my stomach constricted, my thighs locked, and threw my head back in pleasure as my whole body began to shake, all I could feel was Peeta uncurling my toes, I was tethered to him only.

My reeling pleasure was interrupted by the raven girl kissing me on my lips. I locked lips with her, she made her way down my chin and sucked the skin of my neck. I look into Peeta’s enflamed eyes that were enraged with jealousy. We held each other stare as if we were the only people in the room. I loved him but I hated myself more. He deserved better than me. He sees me for what I am.

He doesn’t actually _want_ me, he wants the _unavailability_ of me, he wants the _idea_ of me, but _he doesn’t want me_ , cos if I let him in, and he finally sees me the way I see _myself_... he would run.

It was too much, I had to leave. I had to get out of here fast. I felt my heart beating fast, all I could hear was the blood pumping through my veins. Maybe the cocktail of drugs I consumed were finally tallying up and having a chemical reaction in my body. The heat on my body told me to get the fuck out of there. So I did. I whispered in the ear of the raven haired girl, and I kissed her forehead. She crawled like a lioness towards Peeta to assist her friend that looked exhausted from bobbing up and down from Peeta’s lap, I knew he wasn't going to cum if I left.

I pulled my foot away from Peeta's grasp much to his protest and strength; immediately I felt myself starting to cool down. I got off from the bed and grabbed the shirt on the floor, I pulled it over my body, as the fabric drowned me. Before I left the room, I looked at Peeta and he mouthed 'told you so' and darkly chuckled to himself.

I stuck my middle finger at him as I turned away from him. I angrily pulled the curtain to my bed and grabbed a blanket and pillow and made my way to the front of the bus, that same small space that fit my body perfectly, I cocooned myself in my blanket.

I was upset with myself. Peeta knew the affect he had on me and it was the same one I had on him. I would deny it til I was blue in the face and swore on the graves of my loved ones. It didn't matter what we wanted because there was only one rule to not break- whatever you do, don 't fuck bandmates. 

And don't shit in the toilet on the bus or you have to pay a 300$ fine.

A small voice that I suppressed told me to go back and say fuck it, fuck the label, fuck the rule, and fuck the media- but I knew it was a protective measure so nobody could do something irrational like break up from the band. We all unanimously did what was best for the band, it was all for the music, for our dreams. We had to sacrifice it for the bigger picture, because love and lust were sure as hell not a dependable variable. Our exact brand wasn't a family brand, we were rockstars who belonged to the world, but most importantly the music- and nothing could fuck with our music including what Peeta and I felt for each other.

It was almost terrifying how much Peeta was willing to risk everything for me, everything he ever wanted in life out the window for little ole' me. Push come to shove, it would be me out the door, see I was disposable, a mere vocalist and guitarist, I wasn't the face, I wasn't the main attraction. I had to be a constant reminder to him that I chose my career over love, I'd do it again in a heart beat, there wasn't that many women of color electric guitarists in popular media, there was me, The Seam's 2nd guitarist, vocalist, and songwriter Katniss Everdeen and Beyoncé's guitarist Bibi McGill-who by the way was extremely talented on her own merits- she literally works for _Beyoncé,_ who I also worship.

I was the only female in an all guy band in the male dominated genre of punk rock. I'm nothing but a white mans whore in sheeps clothing to the public. This was the only chance I could ever get, I wasn't going to throw that away for Peeta, he could have the whole book thrown at him and with one fucking look and a couple of seductive words- the whole world would forgive him cos he happened to be straight, white, and a man. I wasn't so lucky to have that privilege where I'd be stoned to death and then publicly hung while everyone bought a ticket to the front row. 

I looked up to see our bus driver Gem, he smiled at me through rearview mirror, and I gave him a tired smile that didn't quite reach my eyes- he was a good person despite his gender, just a bus driver who was helping his only daughter get through college. He never gave me a creepy look or any of the other women for that matter, I respected him because he minded his business. I wondered if he knew what I've just done, if I had a metaphorical branded letter A on my chest. I wondered if he was scared if his daughter could turn out like me or like any of the girls on this bus- this thought partly angered me because we were all the same in this world, didn't matter if I had a vagina and I'd prefer to use it. I could have went to college and took a couple of women studies classes with a focus on white women's version of feminism- it was funny how feminism actually worked more for the cishet men who wanted to paint their fingernails and be accepted in women safe spaces while masquerading as hidden gas-lighters 'I don't emotionally abuse women, I'm a feminist, I love women'. Feminism was pointless to the rest of marginalized women in our society- as soon as you were trans or black- the world discarded you at the drop of a hat- through and through patriarchy all affected us the same- we all wanted to be validated and accepted by men, in my experience I was forced to unlearn and break from that identity. 

I used to label myself a daddy's girl a long time ago- I mistakenly even took his side in the separation- but the truth is my mother was the unsung hero that I neglected. I resented her for it. The truth is my mother was human and I absolved her of that, never giving her the chance to be anyone but my mother, someone who gave me life, who sacrificed her freedom and dreams for my own while my father continued to live his. I wondered if she ever wished she aborted me- it's not a painful thought cos if I never existed I could never feel that loss- she would have to carry that for me. I feel my mother's sickly regret of her compliance to capitalism and patriarchy. I drained and under appreciated her just like all the men did to her- for that I feel pain- no women deserves that. I saw that truth way too fuckin late. The regrets that will follow me to the grave.

I had to remind myself the harsh realities of the fact that, me, Katniss Everdeen wasn't allowed to make unforgivable mistakes unless I was a man. So I turned my heavy head and stared outside of the window watching the road blend into each-other, while the bus motor lulled me to a drugged induced nightmare.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me start by saying, I've been trying to write something for this fandom for years, I started reading- lurking Everlark fanfiction when I was about 13... I'm 23 now. I thought over time I would eventually grow tired of it, re: now I always circle back like a fucking vulture- refreshing the page hoping to see new works. 
> 
> I love these characters so much, but this community means even more to me. Indirectly you all have given me comfort in the characters and stories that you'v written during my pre pubescent years- my life: beliefs, thoughts, passions, personality, art, writing style, inner monologue voice etc has been inspired and influenced by some of the most talented writers I read from in this fandom, you all have ruined books for me forever. 
> 
> -Side note I don't think I can do these characters justice, I don't think my writing is good enough for Katniss & Peeta but I gotta start some where. 
> 
> I'm now a screenwriter cos THG films were so bad I had to save books from hollywood, I feel for Suzanne (even if she was compensated 80 million dollars for it)- I'm just trying to constantly push myself to be a better writer, honestly I need and want some feedback cos I hate my writing so much that I never write... so I hope you enjoyed this.
> 
> ~ L.T.


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